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... he scent of aged wine and the copper tang of fresh blood.
Seijirou stood at the center of the room, his Ki flaring like a cold, blue nebula that made the very floorboards groan under the weight of his presence.
He stood like a predator who had finally cornered his prey, but Mister, lounging at the head of the banquet table, didn’t look like a man who was afraid.
Instead, he even smirked, his pig-like eyes glistening with a dark, wet mirth as he watched Seijirou prepare to ...
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